by Glen Cook
"Yes. Have somebody remember the names of everyone who died here. They'll be the first inscribed."
Later, before he retired, El Murid led Meryem, and carried his daughter, to the highest rampart of the old fortress. "My loves," he said, "one tiny splinter of the dream has come to life. The Kingdom of Peace exists, although its bounds lie no farther than I can see. Someday all the earth will acknowledge the Lord."
Cradling the baby in his left arm, he slipped his right around Meryem's waist. She leaned against him, shivering in the cool mountain breeze.
"Come," she said after a time. "Let me remind you that you're also a man." She smiled up at him. The spoiled brat of the el Habib had grown into a woman who loved him as a man.
That night they conceived a boy-child.
Chapter Five
A Fortress in Shadow
M egelin Radetic walked the stony slopes below the tired walls of el Aswad, the Eastern Fortress. Haroun tagged along, scattering his attention as small boys will, yet clinging to the one adult who had time for him. A scarred old veteran dogged them both, his sword always in hand.
Haroun had not spoken for days. He had become lost inside his own young mind. Now, at least, he chose to speak, as Radetic paused to stare out across the sere, inhospitable land. "Megelin, is Father going to die?"
"I don't think so. The physicians are hopeful."
"Megelin?"
"What?" It was time to be gentle. He knelt.
"Why did he kill them? The pilgrims at the shrine."
Radetic resumed walking. "I don't know. If anyone but El Murid had given the order, I'd guess for spite."
They moved round the flank of the mountain. On its eastern face they encountered Haroun's brother Ali. Ali was seated on a boulder. He stared at Jebal al Alf Dhulquarneni, as if his thoughts might conjure the Hidden Ones from their secret strongholds.
Radetic stared too. He wondered what the wizards of the mountains thought of recent events. Presumably they would pursue tradition and ignore their neighbors. They had been up there since time immemorial. They bothered no one who did not bring them trouble. Even the mighty Empire had let them be, and they had remained aloof from its death throes.
Haroun murmured, "Megelin, I'm afraid."
Ali started to make a cutting remark.
"He's right, Ali. It's a time for fear. We have to fear Nassef for his sword, and El Murid for his Word. They make a deadly combination. And we must fear this, too: that the Sword might become master of the Word, rather than the reverse. Go, then, and try to capture the whirlwind."
Ali frowned. Old Radetic was in one of his ambiguous moods.
Ali was cast more in the mold of his uncle than of his brother or father. He was no thinker. Haroun understood Radetic plainly.
Yousif had reached el Aswad only hours behind the returning family caravan. His force had been savaged, and he had come within a mouse's whisker of death.
The caravan had not come through unscathed. Yousif had left no guards. Disorganized bands of Nassef's pickets had tried their luck plundering.
Even Megelin Radetic had taken up arms in the running fight.
He gripped his left bicep. He had taken a light saber slash. The wound still ached.
He smiled. How he had amazed his assailant with his counterattack!
Fuad still could not assimilate the fact that his brother's tame intellectual knew which end of a sword to grab. Nor did he know what to make of the fact that the teacher had taken charge of old men, boys, women and camel drovers and had whipped hell out of tough young warriors.
Radetic found his incredulity amusing. He had told Fuad, "We study more than flowers at the Rebsamen." The remark referred to Fuad's bewilderment the time when he had discovered that Megelin was cataloging and making color drawings of desert wildflowers.
Ali descended from his perch. "Megelin?"
"Yes?"
"I'm scared too."
"We all are, Ali."
Ali glared at Haroun. "If you tell, I'll pound you."
Haroun snatched up a jagged rock. "Come on, Ali."
"Boys. Save it for El Murid."
"He asking for it," Haroun replied.
"You little snot—"
"I said knock it off. Haroun, come on. Ali was here first."
Ali stuck out his tongue.
Radetic strolled away wondering what Haroun did fear. People did not intimidate him. "Let's go back to the castle, Haroun. It's time we did a little studying."
El Aswad was a regional name which popular usage also applied to its capital fortress. The Imperial builders of the original featureless square stronghold had called it the "Eastern Fortress." Under the Empire it had been the headquarters of a major military command.
The castle was bigger now, though less important. Every generation did a little something to make it more impregnable. Rounded towers had been added to the original walls. Curtain walls and supporting towers had been appended to its north side, enclosing the whole of the mountaintop. Still farther north, connected to the main castle by the curtains, commanding the mountain's most gentle slope, stood a massive square sub-fortress.
The other three faces of the mountain were barren, rocky, and often precipitous. The surface rock was soft and loose. Weather had been gnawing away for ages. Tortuously curved layers of sedimentary rock showed the progress of ancient ages. The children of Yousif's courtiers and soldiers loved scrounging the slopes for fossils, for which Radetic paid a candy bounty.
Radetic found the castle a miserable place to live. It was either too cold and drafty, or too hot and stuffy. The roofs and walls leaked during the rare rains. The sanitary facilities were primitive, and furniture virtually non-existent. There was not one bath in the entire place. Hellin Daimiel was known for its communal baths. The only closable door he had ever seen was the one barring entry into the women's quarters.
He often longed for the comfort and privacy of his tiny apartment at the university.
Despite its drawbacks as a home, the castle served its intended function. Its granaries, cisterns and arsenals could support its garrison almost indefinitely. It commanded a view of vast territories. It had never been conquered by siege or storm.
Radetic paused at the gate and surveyed the miles of stony land surrounding the fortress. "Haroun, you know what I'd like to look out there and see? Just once? A tree."
Weeks passed. Fuad sent out a summons to the tribal levies. On the morning they were to muster, Haroun wakened his teacher. "What do you want?" Radetic growled, squinting one-eyed at the dawn light crawling through his apartment window. "Better be good. No normal human being ought to be up at this hour."
"Uncle Fuad is going to meet the levies. I thought you'd want to be there."
Radetic groaned, swung his legs out of bed. "Want to? No. You've seen one mob of fellahin, you've seen them all. But I suppose I'd better go, if only to keep your uncle from doing anything he'll regret. How many showed up?" He had had doubts that a call from Fuad would elicit the same response as a call from the Wahlig.
Haroun looked disappointed. "Not good. But they're still coming in. Maybe some were delayed."
"Uh? Pretty bad, eh? Here. Hand me those sandals."
The levies were assembling on the slope leading to el Aswad's main gate. Not all had arrived, as Haroun had said, but the few dust clouds approaching indicated that Fuad would be disappointed by the response to his call. "Not a third of what he has a right to expect," Megelin observed.
"Some of those eaters of camel droppings have gone over to the bandits." Fuad had come out. He scowled at the assembling host. "Cowardice is spreading like the pox."
Radetic replied, "I wouldn't think them that fickle."
"They are, fishwife. And those that haven't deserted are hiding in their tents like old women, afraid to take a stand. Their excuse to my brother will be that he didn't issue the call himself. I ought to ride out and punish them. Bloody crones."
"Maybe you ought to wait a few days,"
Radetic suggested. "Send another round of messengers and have them talk tough."
"What good will that do? They want to hide behind their women's skirts, let them. I'll mock them when I return with El Murid's head on my lance. Beloul! Assemble the sheiyeks."
The captain Beloul inclined his head and descended the slope. He passed among the contingents. Chieftains started uphill by twos and threes. Fuad did not greet any of them warmly, though he knew them all and had been riding with them for years. His black scowl compelled them to hold their tongues and keep their distance.
When the last arrived, joining the circle surrounding Fuad, Radetic, Haroun and Fuad's officiers, Fuad turned slowly. "So this is it. Only you have the guts to face these boy bandits. Taha. Rifaa. Qaboos. All of you. I promise you my brother will remember this. And he'll not forget the faces we don't see here today."
Someone suggested, "Maybe we ought to give the others more time."
"More time, Feras? Will the Disciple give us more time? No! We strike. No game. No subtleties. We hit them like a hammer. And we bring their heads back to decorate the walls. Every motherlorn one."
Radetic muttered, "Fierce this morning, aren't we?"
Fuad rewarded him with an ugly look. "You'll find out fierce, teacher. Keep nagging. Beloul. Order the column according to plan. Just drop the places of the cowards who didn't show."
"Fuad," Radetic whispered, "I really think you ought to reconsider this."
"We ride when the column is in order," Fuad countered. "There will be no more discussion. We will be victorious or we will fail. I wouldn't want to be in the sandals of those cowards if we fail and I survive. Get away from me, teacher. You don't have anything to tell me."
Hours later Megelin watched the column pass out of sight. "I did what I could, Haroun. But he's too damned stubborn to hear reason."
"You don't think he'll win?"
Radetic shrugged. "Anything is possible. Maybe he'll get lucky."
A messenger located Megelin in his classroom two days after Fuad's departure. "The Lord Yousif has awakened. He asks your attendance."
Radetic was irritated by the interruption, but could not ignore the summons. "Ali. I'm leaving you in charge while I see your father. Keep on with the lesson."
Outside, the messenger chuckled. "You set them a grim taskmaster."
"I know. It's the only way I can get him to learn anything. He doesn't want his students thinking they're smarter than he is."
"Would that I had had such an opportunity when I was young."
"Ah." Radetic smiled gently. Yousif's subterfuge was working. Before children could be educated their elders had to be convinced that there was some point to education. "How is he?"
"Quite well, considering. But he's tough. This is a tough family. The desert has never been kind here."
"I can see that." Megelin had heard the same remark so often, even where the desert had been kind, that he suspected it was a homily.
Yousif was sitting up, arguing with a physician who wanted him to lie down. "Ah. Megelin. Here at last. Save me from the mercies of this old woman."
"The old woman probably knows more about what your body needs than you do, Wahlig."
"You all stick together, don't you? Well, no matter. Come here. Take one of these cushions. I can't use them all."
Radetic sat. He could not conceal his discomfort. He was too old to adapt to the desert custom of sitting cross-legged on cushions.
Yousif ignored his discomfort. "I've been away from this world a long time. It makes a man take stock. You know what I mean?"
"I think so, Wahlig."
"My first job in this second life is to get you to stop acting like a servant. We have things to talk about, Megelin. I think the first should be friendship."
"Wahlig?"
"You brought my caravan through."
"Nonsense."
"I've spoken with Muamar. We won't argue it. I'm grateful. It hadn't occurred to me that I might be leaving enemies behind me."
"My life was in danger, too."
"That's one way of looking at it. Whichever view you choose, my wives and children came through safely. I consider your effort an act of friendship. I do as I'm done by, Megelin."
Radetic could not stifle a wry smile. "Thank you." The gratitude of princes was notoriously short-lived.
"Megelin, you show expertise in surprising directions. I value a man who has skills beyond those demanded by his profession."
"Score a point for education."
"Indeed. Tell me. What do you think of Fuad's expedition?"
"I haven't been over the ground, except on the chicken tracks you call maps. He had a thousand men. Maybe he'll get lucky."
"He outnumbers them three or four to one."
"The numbers might be enough to make his hammer blows more convincing than Nassef's finesse. Your brother isn't a thinker."
"How well I know. Tell me, why are you so impressed with Nassef?"
"He has the subtle touch of genius. In a western context his threat to send an assassin to el Aswad would have been brilliant. Here it's a waste of inspiration."
"I don't see it. That was just talk by somebody who got spit on."
"That's the flaw in his subtlety."
"What?"
"There's no one here subtle enough to see the implications of the threat. Is the assassin here already? If not, how will he get in? And so on."
"You westerners are a devious race. We're more direct."
"I've noticed. But Nassef and El Murid are working on a different level. Their behavior betrays careful calculation. They occupied Sebil el Selib knowing your strength and probable response."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning they're confident they can hold it. There's no point in their taking something they can't keep. Not at this point in their growth."
"You give them too much credit."
"You don't give them enough. Despite everything you told me at Al Rhemish, you haven't really convinced yourself that these people are anything more than bandits led by a madman. Do you recall what you said? About El Murid selling the snake oil everyone wants to buy? I've reflected on that, and I think it's even truer than you know."
"What would you have me do?"
"There are a lot of possibilities." Radetic suggested several, all of which Yousif rejected as impractical or politically unfeasible. "Then be direct. Murder El Murid. People will scream, but they will forget quickly enough. And Nassef won't be able to survive without him. Not at this point."
"I plan to try. Assuming Fuad fails. You haven't given me a thing."
"I know I'm overlooking the financial and political difficulties. You asked for options. I laid out what I see. Hell, it's even remotely possible we could ignore them till they all die of indifference."
"Megelin, my recovery wasn't spontaneous. I've been lying here for two days, aching more in mind than in body. I've thought of it all. And the only workable option is to fight and hope we get lucky. If we can't get lucky, then we'll try to keep them contained."
"This is depressing. We're talking ourselves into accepting a defeat before the event."
"Drop it, then. Megelin?"
"Yes?"
"You can do one thing to brighten my life."
"Wahlig?"
"Stay here when your contract is up. I may need the outsider's viewpoint desperately before this is over."
Radetic was surprised. This was the first time ever that Yousif had treated him with more than minimal respect. "I'll consider it, Wahlig. I'd better go. I left Ali in charge of my class."
Yousif chuckled. "Yes, you'd better."
"I'm a political historian, Haroun," Megelin explained. "That's why I'm going to stay. Why I have to stay. I can't leave during the political storm of the century, can I?"
The boy seemed slightly disappointed. Radetic understood, but did not have it in him to lay out the true, emotional bases for lengthening his stay. He did not understand all his motives himself.
/> "You see, I'm the only one here at the heart of it. History is written by prejudiced parties, Haroun. By winners, usually. This is a unique opportunity to capture the truth."
Haroun looked at him sideways, wearing an amused little smile. After a moment, Megelin chuckled. "You devil. You see right through me, don't you?"
He had his excuse, though. It would be good enough to prolong his stay as grim weeks piled into months and years.
Haroun whipped into Megelin's room, almost falling as he swung through the door, almost overturning the little table where the scholar was pouring over his notes, inscribing one of his regular missives to a friend in Hellin Daimiel. "What is it, child?"
"Uncle Fuad is coming."
Radetic asked his next question by raising an eyebrow. Haroun understood. "No."
Radetic sighed, pushed his papers back. "I didn't think so. There would have been messengers carrying his brags. Let's go down to the gate."
The troops were dragging in when Radetic arrived. Megelin located Fuad. The Wahlig's brother was tired, deflated and had exhausted his stock of contrariness. He answered questions dully, frankly, apparently not caring how bad the answers might make him look. "Just get it down the way it happened, teacher," he muttered at one point. "Just write it up the way it happened. We came up one company short. One stinking company. One fresh company, in reserve, and we would have had them." Stalking toward his brother's quarters, he added, "One company from any one of those whoreson sheiyeks who didn't show at muster. There's going to be some new chieftains in el Aswad."
Three months later Yousif issued his own call to arms. It took Megelin by surprise. "Why?" he demanded. "And why didn't you tell me?" He was severely piqued because the Wahlig had not consulted him.
"Because," Yousif replied, donning a teasing grin. "Because I wanted to deal with your protests at one sitting, instead of endlessly."
Hardly mollified, Radetic demanded, "Why this hosting? That's the important question."
"Because I need to assert my primacy over the tribes. They need to be shown that I'm still strong, that I remain in command. We children of the desert are a lot like your forest wolves, Megelin. I'm the leader of the pack. If I stumble, if I reveal any weakness, if I hesitate, I'm lost. I have no desire to attack El Murid. The time isn't right, as you no doubt would have told me endlessly had you been informed earlier. But the eyes of a hundred chieftains are on el Aswad, waiting to see my response to my wounding and Fuad's defeat. Not to mention the turnout for Fuad's hosting."
